Page 28 of Double Down
Dad’s voice echoes, the one that lives in my molars:Earn your keep. Make yourself useful.
My stomach goes hard, then hollow. I shrug.
“No. I actually heard my neighbor’s kid call him that one night. He’s just sort of… always around. I thought that was his name, but he doesn’t really answer to that, or anything else.”
Plus, Maverick is right. Scrappy is a dumb name and this little guy deserves a name fit for a king.
“Hmm.” Maverick keeps scratching behind Scrapy’s ears. “What about Zeus? You may seem small, but you’ve got total big dog energy. And if you’re gonna be rolling with the Titans, you need to fit in.”
I snort out a giggle. If I wasn’t already on the way to being head over heels for this man, his care for this little runt of a dog just about does me in.
“Zeus is perfect,” I say.
I’m ready to go. I need to leave before the memories of my life here in this trailer drag me into their own version of hell.
On the table, a photo of last Christmas in this same kitchen. Paper crowns, gas station cake, me laughing at something that wasn’t funny because I wanted it to be. Dad’s thumb in the corner, big and clumsy and everywhere.
The phone buzzes again.
Unknown
Ten minutes.
I set the phone down like it burns and clip the makeshift leash onto the dog formerly known as Scrappy. He doesn’t jerk. He leans into me, puts his shoulder against my shin like he’s bracing me. I lock the door like there’s anything in here to protect besides my bullshit memories while Maverick holds the leash.
Outside, someone’s TV burps a laugh track. A neighbor smokes on a step, embers the only glow, eyes skimming over me and away because she knows the difference between curiosity and suicide. The cicadas are loud enough to count as a crowd.
Dock C is south and right and down and then left again. Ten minutes means they’ve done the math and want me to see that they’re watching me. Ten minutes means they expect me to run.
I don’t.
And not just because Maverick is with me.
Because I’m not going to give them the power to control my life.
I angle the other way, toward the road and the app and a driver with a car that doesn’t look like potential to be walking to my grave.
Scrappy-Zeus rides with his front paws on my thigh, watching out the window next to Maverick, panting into the glass and fogging a circle.
Neither Maverick or I say a word, but we don’t need to.
I trusted him enough to ask for help, and he trusted me enough to give it. That’s gotta mean something, right?
We slide back into the city’s good side like we actually belong there, the hotel rising before us like a diamond against the night sky.
When we stop under the portico, the three of us look like a bizarre family climbing out of the rideshare. The night guard does not, under any circumstances, see my dog. The night desk boy does not, under any circumstances, ask whether pets are allowed. My smile says that Zeus is my service animal and that I’m headed to the penthouse, and the Titan at my side means that there’s nothing wrong with our scenario.
And that’s enough for all of us.
Service elevator. Zeus sits like a prince when I tell him to, tongue lolling and gaze shifting curiously about the little metal box. The doors close. The elevator hums. My heart tries to climb into my throat and then thinks better of it.
Up.
The doors open, and we walk without conversation down the carpet that always makes my feet feel like I’m floating. I hold the leash short, not because Zeus needs it, but because I don’t know what will happen when I take him inside that suite, and regardless of what Con or Atticus have to say…Scrappy-Zeus is staying.
Outside the door, I bend and pick him up, then set him down again once we’re inside.
The suite is dark and watchful. Conrad’s door is closed. Atticus left his legal pad face-down again. Storm’s jacket sleeps over a chair in a shape that says he’s still ready.
